The sun hung low over the horizon, casting golden streaks across the endless blue. Waves lapped gently against a small, weather-beaten boat—its paint chipped, its wood aged by time and salt. A lone figure sat on its edge, holding a makeshift fishing rod, eyes fixed on the line.
Hazard.
Now seventeen, he had grown taller, leaner. The scar on his left cheek was faint but visible—faded evidence of a long-forgotten battle. His clothes were patched, his boots damp, and yet his expression was calm. Peaceful, even.
"Bite already," he muttered to the sea.
A moment later, the line tugged.
Hazard's hand twitched toward the reel—but then, something else tugged. Hard.
Water surged beside the boat, sending a sharp splash into the air.
Hazard's eyes narrowed. "What the—"
A massive shape rose from the ocean's surface—a grotesque creature, its body long and sinuous like a serpent, but with the rubbery skin and legs of a toad. Its wide mouth gurgled, leaking seawater and slime, and its yellow eyes locked onto him with primal hunger.
It lunged, clawed limbs gripping the side of the boat.
Hazard's hand flew to the hilt of the short blade strapped to his waist. "Of course," he muttered dryly. "Can't even fish in peace anymore."
The monster snapped forward.
In a blink, Hazard's blade met flesh—but it wasn't his short knife. In one motion, both katanas were drawn, their black-red steel singing through the salt air. His body twisted with practiced precision, twin arcs slicing a deep X across the creature's chest. Muck and blood sprayed the deck, hissing where it touched the glowing veins pulsing along his swords.
The creature reeled, shrieking—a gurgling, slimy sound that shook the boat's ribs.
Hazard dropped into a low stance. His breath slowed. Heat shimmered faintly around his shoulders.
"I need you off this boat," he growled, "before I melt it with you."
The creature lunged again, tongue lashing like a spear. Hazard spun sideways, ducking low, letting it snap past his head. He slashed upward—one blade catching the tongue, the other carving into the beast's underarm. The cuts glowed orange as magma bloomed from the katanas, cauterizing wounds instantly.
Steam erupted from the contact.
The beast screeched in agony and slammed its tail across the deck. Hazard flipped backward, landing on one foot near the bow, arms wide to steady the swaying boat. Wood creaked beneath him.
"Don't break," he muttered. "Not today."
The monster bellowed and surged forward in desperation.
Hazard exhaled, and the glow beneath his skin intensified. Cracks of molten red ran along his forearms, creeping down his blades like veins of living fire.
He dashed.
The air behind him warped from heat.
His first strike severed one of the creature's clawed hands. The second sliced clean across its gullet—but restrained, precise, just deep enough to weaken. Sparks scattered across the deck, flickering dangerously close to the boat's wood—but Hazard reined it in. His control was absolute.
He skidded to a halt behind the beast, back to it.
One final breath.
He swung both katanas in an X behind him—sending a shockwave of blistering heat without touching flame to timber. The air rippled.
The creature convulsed, wailing once more, before its body collapsed into the sea with a sickening splash—leaving behind only a film of slime and the scent of scorched salt.
Silence returned.
The boat rocked gently again, as if nothing had happened.
Hazard exhaled, sliding both swords back into their sheaths with a metallic click.
He glanced at the broken fishing rod still dangling over the side and sighed.
"Figures."
Then he sat back down, eyes on the horizon.
Fishing rod or not, the sea wasn't done with him yet.
But eventually, it let him go.
Hazard dragged the boat ashore with a grunt, the hull scraping against the sand. The sun had begun to dip behind the clouds, casting the island in amber hues. Palm trees swayed gently as the sea breeze carried the salty scent inland. Hazard's boots left faint prints on the damp sand as he made his way up the beach, the weight of his katanas at his back and a faint trail of steam still rising from where magma had cooled along his arms.
A wooden beach house stood nestled between the trees—modest, with a slanted roof, and walls faded by years of ocean wind. Hazard stepped onto the porch, shaking the saltwater from his sleeves. He pushed the creaky door open and leaned in with a playful grin.
"Eldra~," he sang, voice soft and teasing, "Your handsome guardian is home~"
Silence.
Hazard blinked. His grin faltered.
"Eldra?"
Nothing.
His heart skipped. The house felt too quiet—too still.
He stepped in quickly, eyes scanning the modest living room. The cushions were ruffled. A pot of soup still simmered faintly on the stove in the small kitchen beyond. But no sign of Eldra.
Hazard's voice dropped, the humor gone. "Eldra?"
He moved fast now—checking the bedroom, the small hallway, even ducking behind furniture. His steps grew frantic, breath tightening in his chest. The fight from earlier meant nothing now. This was different. This was Eldra.
Just as he turned back toward the kitchen—
"Hazard?"
He froze.
Eldra stood at the doorway, his face slightly smudged with flour, wearing an oversized shirt splattered with sauce. His hair was tousled, and a wooden spoon still dangled from his hand. He blinked, then grinned like the sun had just risen behind his smile.
Hazard exhaled all at once.
He crossed the room in seconds and pulled the boy into his arms, lifting him off the ground in a tight hug.
"I was gone for five damn minutes," Hazard muttered into his hair, voice thick with relief. "I missed you like a man starved."
Eldra chuckled, his arms wrapping around Hazard's neck. "You're so dramatic."
Hazard didn't let go just yet. His voice dropped, soft again.
"I caught some fish," he said. "And a couple of fat shrimps. Figured you'd do something magical with them."
Eldra pulled back slightly, his eyes lighting up. "Really?"
"Mm-hm. They're still flopping around in the bucket outside."
He smiled—but didn't mention the fight. Not the serpent, not the burns on his arms still fading into steam. Not the brief flare of panic when the boat nearly split.
That was his burden. Not Eldra's.
"Now," Hazard said, tousling the boy's hair, "tell me you weren't trying to cook without me."
"I was hungry!" Eldra pouted, waving the spoon. "And you took forever!"
Hazard chuckled. "Let's fix that. Fish stew, chef's choice?"
"Only if I get to be head chef."
Hazard bowed with exaggerated grace. "Always, your majesty."
And just like that, the house was warm again.
Hazard stepped into the kitchen, setting the basket of fish and shrimp on the counter. The cozy wooden walls echoed with the comforting creak of old beams, and the scent of whatever Eldra had been attempting to cook still lingered in the air—burnt rice and something overly sweet.
Eldra climbed onto the small stool near the counter, peering into the basket. "Whoa! That shrimp's still twitching—cool."
Hazard chuckled. "Let's take that as a compliment."
They moved around the cramped kitchen in sync—Hazard gutting fish with practiced ease, Eldra handing him herbs from the rack or accidentally spilling salt. At one point, Eldra tried to season the broth but sneezed mid-pour, dumping far too much paprika into the pot.
"Hey!" Hazard laughed, scooping some of the red cloud out with a spoon. "Trying to kill me with spice?"
Eldra stuck out his tongue. "You'll live."
Their movements weren't perfect—far from it. Eldra knocked over a ladle. Hazard burned his finger on the side of the pot. But between the mistakes were smiles and stolen glances, laughter bubbling over like the stew itself.
When the pot finally simmered into something rich and savory, Hazard stepped back and admired the mess they'd made—the cluttered counters, the sauce-streaked apron Eldra wore like a badge of honor, the warmth in the air that had nothing to do with the stove.
Hazard ruffled Eldra's hair. "Y'know," he said softly, "I kinda missed this."
"You were gone for 15 minutes."
"Yeah," Hazard said, eyes fond, "and that was too long."